Country Nights

by Winter Renshaw

  “We’re going to have to walk from here,” he says, killing the engine but flicking on the headlights.

  I meet him at the front of the truck, pausing for a second to let my eyes adjust to the beam of his headlights against pitch black countryside.

  Sliding his hand into the bend of my elbow, he leads me over the rocky hillside until we reach the crest of a butte. And when we reach the top, he slips his hand into mine.

  Smooth.

  I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, but it’s … something.

  Wonderment mixed with nervousness disguised as hope?

  All I know for sure is that being with Seth completely takes my mind off Grant and my current living situation, so that’s a plus.

  “This is it,” he says, releasing his hold on me and taking a seat on the edge of a flat piece of rock. He pats the spot beside him.

  It’s beautiful here, under a blanket of a billion stars we can see for miles.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “It’s just like you said it would be.” I watch him from the corner of my eye, not brave enough to ask what he’s thinking about because we’re still a couple of strangers, and I don’t even know his last name. “Peaceful. Serene.”

  “When I was a kid and I’d get myself into some trouble, I’d always come out here to hide until my Daddy calmed down,” he says with a nostalgic chuckle.

  “I have a hard time believing you were an ornery child.”

  He laughs. “Believe it. I was a real pain in the ass. Military did me some good in that department, I think.”

  “Ah, yes. The girls at the bar said you were a veteran,” I say. “They called you a hometown hero. Said you were on TV and everything.”

  He tucks his chin, his lips tugging into a humble grin with a side of dimples. “They give me too much credit. I was just doing the right thing, that’s all.”

  “Sometimes doing the right thing is hard,” I say. “Give yourself a little credit.”

  He shrugs. “Anyway, enough about me. What brought you out here? I don’t think you told me.”

  “I grew up here,” I say. “We moved when I was fifteen. My dad passed unexpectedly, and my mom couldn’t keep the farm going on her own with three kids, so we moved to Kansas City to live with our grandmother. I haven’t been back until now.”

  “Why now? Just seems kind of random.”

  “I recently ended an engagement.” I inspect my palms, pitted with rock and gravel from the butte, and I dust them off on my jeans before resting my elbows on my knees. “I wanted to go someplace that made me happy. Somewhere with good memories. All my best ones were here.”

  He snuffs. “That’s pretty honorable. Most girls I know would head to the bar, get hammered, and try to find a one-night stand to ease the pain.”

  “I’m not most girls.”

  “I know.”

  Our eyes meet in the dark, shiny and curious. Under the shade of night, he can’t see me blush, and with at least a foot between us, I’m thankful he can’t hear the drum of my heart pounding in my chest.

  “Have you always been this charming?” I ask.

  “Charming?” He scratches above a cocked eyebrow.

  I laugh. “You always say the right things. You’re extremely easy to be around. I hardly know you, but it doesn’t feel that way. You have this very calming presence about you.”

  Seth shrugs, folding his hands and resting them on his knees. Staring at the hillside, he says, “I like people. I’m a people person. If that makes me charming, then I guess I am.”

  I watch him from the corner of my eye, wondering what his lips taste like or if he’s thinking about kissing me as much as I’m thinking of kissing him right now.

  I don’t want anything from him except for an experience I’ll remember the rest of my life. I want the feels. I want the tingles. And I want to look back on my time in Bonesteel Creek and remember that one guy who made me feel like everything was going to be okay.

  “Do you ever think that—” I begin to ask … until his phone rings.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, pulling it from his pocket. “It’s the bar. I have to take this.”

  “It’s fine.” I give him a gracious nod and zip my lips.

  “What’s going on?” he asks the caller, biting his lower lip. A second later, he pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard. “Of course he did. All right. Tell them I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  My heart sinks. So much for hope floating.

  So much for a knee-weakening kiss to remember under a sky full of stars.

  Seth ends the call and turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Leighton. There’s an issue at the bar. Some guys causing trouble. Police were called. I’ve got to head back and deal with that.”

  “It’s fine,” I assure him, rising and carefully stepping down from the top of the butte. He follows, his hands steadying my hips so I don’t slip and fall.

  “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes again. “When you’re a one-man show …”

  “Seth, don’t worry about it,” I say. “I completely understand. This is your business, your job, your livelihood. I get it.”

  The ride back to town is quiet, and I imagine he’s worried with the impending shit storm he’s about to walk into. I’ve heard of bars getting shut down when there’s gun violence or issues with serving underage patrons. All it takes is one incident and it’s all over.

  “Rain check?” he asks when we arrive back at The Oasis. Flashes of blue and red light the alley, and a handful of cop cars have the street blocked off out front.

  “Sure.”

  “Give me your number.” He pulls his phone out, and I program myself into his contacts. “I’ll call you.” He pauses. “I mean it. I will. I want to see you again.”

  “I want to see you again too.”

  Sliding out of his truck, I make my way back to my car and drive back to the farm. The house is dark when I arrive, and I don’t see River’s truck.

  Lingering outside the front porch, I give the house a good stare. It’s the one time I can actually do something like this without looking like a total creep. There’s something sad and lonely about this place now, especially here in the dark, all alone. The roof sags a bit more than it used to, and the windows could use a good washing, but it’s beyond any of that.

  I know what the house represents to me, but I can’t help but wonder what it means to River.

  What’s a single man need with a big old farm house like this anyway?

  Pulling in a breath of sweet country air, I release a deep yawn and make my way in.

  Switching on a few lamps when I shuffle past the console table in the entryway, I pause when I notice a framed needle point with the saying “Bless This House” in pale blue thread. It doesn’t seem like something a bachelor cowboy would decorate with, so I can only assume it was a gift from his grandmother or someone special.

  Moving on, I take the opportunity to walk around the house, going room to room and lingering like a sentimental weirdo.

  I pass the wall in the living room where our upright piano once resided, remembering the teacher who used to come here every Monday night from six o’clock to seven to give us all lessons. She would slap our hands when we missed a note and always when my mother wasn’t looking. We were always too afraid of her to say anything.

  Next I stand beside the picture window, where we used to gather on snow days and try to guess how deep it would be by noon. Aubrey always won. She was good at guessing things. Or maybe just plain lucky.

  A white-washed built-in separates the dining room from the kitchen, and I chuckle to myself when I remember scratching my initials into one of the drawers. I’d never seen my mother so red-faced and speechless before, and I’d never heard my father yell so loud. From then on, I had a new respect for things, especially the kinds of things other people poured their blood, sweat, and tears into.

  “It’s a piece of art,” my father screamed, his well-worn finger
s tracing the intricate inlays of the glass cabinet fronts. “Someone made this, Leighton. Why the hell would you scratch your name into it like it belongs to you? What gives you the right?”

  It was the first and only time I’d ever seen my father lose his cool, and I’m glad he did. I like to think that moment had something to do with my desire to study art history and restoration.

  Tugging the third drawer on the left, I can’t help but to look and see if “LEH” is still carved into the bottom. Digging past a stack of outdated newspapers, old greeting cards, and junk mail, I run my fingers along the bottom until I come across the rough indentations.

  Still there.

  Smiling, I place everything back, only something on top catches my eye.

  An obituary.

  The woman on the front is young, with dark hair like mine and the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.

  Allison Lucille Gardner McCray passed away unexpectedly on Wednesday, June 20th, 2012 along with her five-year-old daughter, Emma, and her unborn son, Cannon. She is survived by her husband, River McCray of Bonesteel Creek, her parents, Evie and Roger Gardner of Colton Hills, a younger sister, Candace Gardner, of Colton Hills, an older brother, Bryan Gardner, of Fox Run, as well as her paternal grandparents, and several cousins, aunts, uncles, and close friends.

  She was preceded in death by her maternal grandparents, Vivian and Harold Smyth, as well as a brother, Gregory, who died in infancy.

  Allison was born April 21st, 1983. She attended Bonesteel County High School and upon graduation, pursued a degree in nursing at Colton Hills Community College where she met and eventually married the love of her life, River McCray. In her spare time, she enjoyed baking, rehabilitating injured animals at the Paxton Animal Sanctuary, and spending quality time with friends and family.

  River and Allison welcomed Emma Bluebell McCray on January 1st, 2007. She was the center of their universe, with her vivacious spirit and her intense love for life on the farm. She especially loved caring for her chickens and sneaking extra treats to their cattle dog, Bowser. They were expecting a son, to be named Cannon, in August.

  Funeral services for the McCrays will be held at the Brownstown Funeral Parlor on Saturday, the 23rd of June, at eleven o’clock in the morning. Burial to follow at Resting Hills Cemetery.

  Memorial contributions may be made in the family’s name at First National Savings Bank in Bonesteel Creek.

  My hands quaver, and I look at her picture again. Allison’s smile is contagious, her big, round eyes so full of life … a life she’d never live to see past the age of twenty-nine.

  Flipping to the back, I see a collage of black and white photos. River and Allison smiling on their wedding day. River kissing a grinning, drooling baby Emma on the cheek. Allison and Emma riding a painted pony together. A beaming, radiant, and very pregnant Allison rubbing her belly and rocking in a chair on this very front porch.

  So much life … just … gone.

  All their hopes and dreams … obliterated.

  My heart shatters, and my eyes burn until I can no longer see the photos in front of me. Drawing in a shaky breath, I place the paper back on top of the stack and slide the drawer closed.

  So now I know.

  Now I know why River McCray doesn’t smile.

  Chapter Thirteen

  River

  “You look nice today.” Leighton glances up over a cup of coffee at my kitchen table Sunday morning as I adjust the knot of my tie. “Going somewhere special?”

  “Church.”

  “Ah.” She looks me up and down. “I had no idea you were the church-going type.”

  “I’m not,” I say, moving to the coffee maker. “There’s a widow down the road. She’s too old to drive. I take her every Sunday.”

  “That’s … really sweet.” She peers at me over the top of her coffee mug, and I can’t help but feel like she’s looking at me in a whole new light. “Mind if I tag along? I can’t remember the last time I went to church.”

  “Truck leaves in ten minutes.”

  Leighton springs up, dumping her coffee in the sink before heading to the stairs. Exactly ten minutes later, she’s standing at the front door in a white sundress, her dark hair pulled into a bun on the top of her head and her buxom mouth slicked in deep red.

  “Is this okay?” she asks, giving me a spin. “I hope the lips aren’t too much, but I kind of felt washed out in all this white.”

  “Trying to impress somebody?”

  Leighton rolls her eyes, punching my arm as I walk past. A moment later, her heels are clicking down the front walk as we make our way to the truck. Her perfume fills the cabin, and I can’t stop stealing glances in her direction.

  She’s a beautiful woman, but today she’s stunning. There’s a simplistic grace about her.

  My Allison was that way.

  A few minutes later, we pull into Mrs. Ada Flowers’ house at the top of the hill. She’s waiting on the front porch in her Sunday best, oversized organza hat and all, and I get out to help her in.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” she says, her voice as wrinkled as the smile lines under her sparkling blue eyes. “Such a blessed day, isn’t it?”

  At ninety-two, she’s as sharp as a tack but fragile as china. I loop my arm into hers and lead her carefully down the gravel sidewalk. Her grandson is supposed to mow and maintain the yard, but judging by the overgrown weeds and the grass that hits mid-calf, he hasn’t been here in a while. I mentally add it to my to-do list when Ada stops and squints toward my truck.

  “Ooh! We have company today,” she says, suddenly beaming.

  “That’s Leighton,” I say. “She’s an … acquaintance.”

  Leighton slides from the passenger seat to the middle, giving up her spot for Ada.

  “Hi,” she says. “I’m Leighton.”

  Ada extends her hand, her veins showing through her paper-thin skin. “Very lovely to meet you, Leighton. I’m Ada Flowers.”

  “I love your hat,” Leighton says.

  “It was a gift from my granddaughter two Easters ago.” Ada smiles, proud, as I help her up and hand her the buckle of the seatbelt.

  Five minutes later, I pull into the church parking lot. The bells play a vaguely familiar tune, not unlike the one they played on our wedding day years ago.

  Allison always knew the songs.

  I assist Ada, standing back as she takes off down the sidewalk, waving down one of her friends. I try to give her some space here, let her do her own thing. I’m simply her ride—not her keeper.

  “You going to go in?” Leighton asks.

  I almost forgot she was here.

  “Nah,” I say. “I usually wait out here.”

  I haven’t been able to step foot in here, not since Allison died. Sitting in the back row, staring at the altar where we said our vows while she’s buried in the cold, hard ground, feels wrong.

  Leighton’s eyes slide the length of me. “But you got all dressed up.”

  “It’s a sign of respect.”

  Her red lips press together, like she’s thinking hard about something.

  “Go on in.” I check my watch. “Service is about to start.”

  “Come with me.”

  My feet may as well be anchored to the concrete as I shake my head. “No.”

  “I’d really like it if you came with me. I’m not good at this church stuff. I don’t even know the Lord’s Prayer.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Don’t you just want to feel some peace for one tiny little hour of your life?” she asks. “I know I do.”

  “Be my guest,” I say, arms folded as I peer down my nose.

  “Why won’t you go in? It’s just a church. Everybody’s welcome.”

  “Well aware.”

  Leighton places a palm flat in the air before. “Sorry. I’m pushing again. See you in an hour?”

  “Yep.”

  Slipping a clutch under her arm, she trots across the parking lot and heads for th
e double doors, disappearing inside.

  As soon as organ music begins to play and the latecomers head in, I make my way across the street to Resting Hills Cemetery, picking a handful of wild violets along the way.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Leighton

  “Molly, can I ask you something?” I hand over two cartons of fresh eggs Monday just before lunch.

  “Of course. Come on in.” She carries them to her double fridge, frantically moving things out of the way to make room. I can’t imagine it’s easy keeping a stocked kitchen with a house full of growing boys, but somehow Molly makes it look that way.

  I follow her, drawing in a deep breath. “What … happened to River’s wife?”

  Molly stills before slowly turning to face me. Her face is sheet-white and her hooded eyes open wide.

  “Did River … did he tell you?” she asks, speaking slowly.

  Shaking my head, I say, “No, no. I found an obituary.”

  Molly’s hand splays across her chest and her eyes fall to the floor. She’s quiet, and now I feel like a jerk for even asking.

  “It’s okay. It’s none of my business.” I wave my hands, wishing I could erase the last thirty seconds of my life.

  “It was a car accident,” she says, eyes still down. “She and Emma were heading into town to grab a few things while River was in the field. Came over a hill on a gravel road and hit a combine head on. Combine was in the middle of the road instead of driving on the shoulder. No one knows why. Guess the farmer just wasn’t paying attention.” Molly sighs, her shoulders rising and falling, and then she shuts the fridge door. “Just a freak accident. An awful, horrible, heartbreaking freak accident.”

  I take a seat at her kitchen table, trying to wrap my head around the pain and agony River must’ve suffered at the news that his little family had been taken away in the blink of an eye.

  “He still won’t talk about them.” Molly takes the seat beside me, picking at her cuticles. “It’s been five years, and he won’t even say their names. None of us are allowed to either.”